


Handle with Care

by xiao_xingchen



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:47:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24072400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xiao_xingchen/pseuds/xiao_xingchen
Summary: In the quiet of the night, Oliver sings to Connor.
Relationships: Oliver Hampton/Connor Walsh
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	Handle with Care

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what to say other than someone recommended me [this song](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=aY30nSWhX9g) and my brain pictured this scene. And I don't know, man, I just want Connor to be treated with gentleness. 
> 
> Also, English isn't my native language, so if you notice any mistakes, please let me know!

When he opens his eyes, the room is still drowned in darkness. There are no birds chirping and no hues of red and orange seeping through the blinds. His alarm is not going off, and Connor's is set to be activated thirty minutes later than his; therefore, he is not sure what has made him wake up all of a sudden. He takes a glance at the digital clock sitting on the nightstand, and it reads three and forty-seven minutes in the morning, still two hours and thirteen minutes until it is time for him to be up.

For a split of a second, he is relieved; he is still too tired and some more time to sleep feels almost like a blessing, so he burrows back into his pillows. But the feeling is short-lived, and right at the moment his eyelids start drooping on their own account, the bed shifts in a manner that is entirely too violent for the stillness of the night.

He stays still, alert, waiting to see if the movement will come again. And it does, but the second time it is accompanied by the tiniest of whimpers, -only a little hitch of a cry, just enough to make him jump into action.

He turns around, and reaches out until his hand finds his companion's back. His husband is facing away from him, and has managed to get the blanket off his body completely. 

Oliver feels the younger man's body jump slightly under his palm, so he grips his arm, and then rubs up and down the expanse of it, simultaneously moving closer to the other body until his chest is pressed flush against his back.

"Hey, love, it's alright." He whispers into the man's ear, and then places a kiss on his temple. He does not want to startle him but rather try to get him to wake up gradually, so he works slowly and with gentleness.

He has made the mistake of waking him up abruptly before, and it has resulted in situations like him sporting a black eye the following morning, and one night, witnessing a harrowing mental breakdown that has chilled him to the bones.

That night, echoes of his beloved husband's sobs could be heard throughout the entire house, and he had been so angry and had looked so lost that Oliver could do nothing but watch, astonished.

It is sad how he has mastered the art of dealing with Connor's night terrors since then, how his post-traumatic stress disorder makes its presence known even during the only time his plagued mind can be turned off and rest, like a pageant queen hoarding everyone's attention.

Slowly, he embraces the man around his waist, placing his open palm on his chest. He can feel the erratic drumming of his heart, and his own one breaks. 

"It's okay, you're home, you're safe, darling." He says, one time and again, helplessly trying to reassure the sleeping boy. He repeats reassurances for a couple minutes, until he feels him tense up, a sign that he has finally escaped from whatever was haunting his dreams.

"You okay, Con?" He asks after a while of intently listening to his uneven intakes of breath and feeling the up and down of his chest, because he has to, even if it is a stupid question, even if he knows Connor will probably never be fully alright.

Oliver feels Connor nod, though his body still trembles a little. It might also be because the AC is on -he doubts it, it has been malfunctioning for a while but he wants to be a little hopeful-, so he retrieves the blanket, and pulls it over their bodies.

"You wanna talk about it?" He inquires. He knows the answer will be no, Connor never wants him to know the things he sees, the images that he cannot forget or the smells that make him throw up when awake.

He wants to protect him, Connor always says, and Oliver then tries to get it through his head that he is a grown-ass man and does not need protecting, but it is futile every time. So he ends up conceding, and they never talk about it. It has been years of the same dynamics. 

Connor stays silent, body still shaking, and then he surprises Oliver.

"It was the night at the bonfire again." He confesses, voice a little airy. It sounds small, like that of a child that has been scolded. A voice that no one but Oliver has ever heard. "But I could see, I could smell every body that has piled up because of us." 

Oliver is now the one to keep his silence, there is not much he can say to that. And all that there is to say he has already told him. _'You should see a therapist'_ , he has seen one for years; it has not worked. He cannot talk about things like hacking up a body or being pressured into almost shooting his boss so what is the use, anyway. _'It is not your fault'_ , it is impossible to convince Connor that all those awful things that have happened to them are not his doing. _'It's all in the past now'_ , how can he say that when Connor keeps reliving every traumatic event that he has gone through ever since stepping a foot on Annalise Keating's house?

"Can you sing to me, Ollie?" He squeezes his eyes shut as he hears his request, and takes a deep breath, feeling his heart contract at how unsure and fragile Connor sounds. Helplessness threatens to choke him, but he nods.

Sometimes Oliver tries to connect the conceited, overconfident, collected boy who seduced him just because he had wanted to impress his professor all those years ago with this broken version of him. He fails indescribably. All that there is left of that confidence and his promising future is this man cuddled up to him, trembling and scared and so, _so_ tired. 

But God, does he not love him all the same.

Even more, one million times more.

Oliver places a quick kiss on his shoulder, clears his throat and starts to sing the lyrics that have come to his mind upon his petition. One that talks about hope and a brighter, kinder future. 

_"Don't you let it kill you, even when it hurts like hell_." His voice is soft, albeit a little raspy from the lack of use. He keeps it low as he tries to help his lover calm down and forget about his nightmare.

It is never an easy task to deal with the aftermath of a bad dream, but he has never not done it. Connor is always protecting him, even when he does not have to and even when he should not do it, so this is his way of doing the same for him. " _Oh, whatever tears you apart, don't let it break your heart."_

He hears his lover's breath hitch, so he kisses the back of his head, lips lingering there for a moment. His hand makes its way under the other's t-shirt in order to place it on his belly, the feeling of skin-to-skin contact comforting for the both of them.

_"Time takes time to heal it, you can't do it by yourself."_ Oliver hopes Connor understands what he is trying to convey with the lyrics, that he has not randomly chosen just any song. He so desperately wants him to comprehend that they are a team, that he does not have to go through this alone. That he can be okay. He so desperately needs him to understand that he is asking him not to give up. _"Whatever tears you apart, don't let it break your heart."_

He finishes the song, and suddenly hit by a fierce sense of protectiveness, he makes the man turn around in his arms. His embrace becomes tighter, as Connor rests his head on his shoulder, face hidden in the spot where Oliver's neck meets his shoulders.

He continues singing other songs, including some random ones he comes up with in the moment. Even after Connor manages to fall asleep, he guards his dreams like they are the most precious thing, hoping the familiarity of his voice and the promises and declarations of love in the lyrics will keep the horrors at bay.

He thinks he has succeeded, when Connor's alarm cuts through the tranquility of the room and the man has not waken up or even moved anymore. Oliver, always so indulgent and endlessly gone for this man, presses _snooze_ and tells him to go back to sleep.

The day ahead can wait a little longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone read this, thank you. I hope you can tell me what you think of it.


End file.
